you so awfully young!"

"I was," said Joan.

The girl who had never had any luck darted a keen, examining glance at
the girl who had all the appearance of having been born lucky. Married,
as pretty as a picture, everything out of the smartest shops, the
owner, probably, of this hill and those woods, and the old house that
she had peeped at all among that lovely garden--she couldn't have come
up against life's sharp elbow, surely? She hoped not, most awfully she
hoped not.

Joan caught the look and smiled back. There was kindness here, and
comradeship. "I've nothing to tell," she said, "yet. I'm just beginning
to think, that's the truth, only just. I've been very young and
thoughtless, but I'm better now and I'm waiting to make up for it. I'm
not unhappy, only a little anxious. Everything will come right though,
because my man's a man, too."

Tootles made a long arm and put her hand on Joan's. "In that case, make
up for it bigly, dearie," she said earnestly. "Don't be afraid to give.
There are precious few real men about and lots of women to make a
snatch at them. It isn't being young that matters. Most troubles are
brought about, at your time of life, by not knowing when to stop being
young. Good luck, Lady-bird. I hope you never have anything to tell.
Oh, just look, just look!"

Joan followed the pointing finger, but held the kind hand. And they sat
in silence watching "the fair frail palaces, the fading Alps and
archipelagoes, and great cloud-continents of sunset seas." And as she
sat, enthralled, the whole earth hushed and still, shadows lurking
towards the east, the evening air holding its breath, the night ready
behind the horizon for its allotted work, God's hand on everything, it
was of Marty that Joan thought, Marty whom she must have hurt so deeply
and who had gone away without a word or a sign, believing that she was
still a kid. Yes, she WOULD make up for it, bigly, bigly, and he should
be happy, this boy-man who was a knight.

And it was of Martin that Tootles, poor, little, unlucky Tootles,
thought also. All her life she would have something to which to look
back, something precious and beautiful, and his name, stamped upon her
heart, would go down with her to the grave.

And they stayed there, in silence, holding hands, until the last touch
of color had gone out of the sky and the evening air sighed and moved
on and the night climbed slowly over the dim horizon. They might have
been sisters.

A